


Nessian: The Mating (NSFW)

by Rhysand_vs_Rowan



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M, Nessian - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-18 00:36:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11862960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhysand_vs_Rowan/pseuds/Rhysand_vs_Rowan
Summary: ** This is a sequel to my previous fic, "Alone in the Townhouse"At long last, Cassian and Nesta's wedding (and mating) day has arrived... along with most of Prythian.





	Nessian: The Mating (NSFW)

**Author's Note:**

> As I put all my fics in the same 'verse, there are also references to my other stories. All you need to know is:
> 
> 1) Lucien and Elain accidentally mated in "Alone in the Garden"  
> 2) Tamlin revealed that he and Amarantha were incompatible mates in "What Rises from the Ashes"

Every detail mattered, and yet nothing was important.

Nesta couldn’t seem to stop her heart from racing. Her skin felt too thin, she was too light, too breathless, too-

“Drink this.” Feyre held a cup to her lips and Nesta obediently gulped down the contents. The potion eased the throbbing in her head almost instantly.

“Thank you,” she said.

“You didn’t eat anything at breakfast, if you don’t have  _something_  you’ll faint.” Elain didn’t look up from her work. How was Feyre so fast?

“I’m not hungry.” Nesta was far,  _far_  too nervous to eat anything.

Feyre set the cup down, “It’s not too late to-“

“I’m not calling it off!” Nesta snapped a bit harder than she intended and winced, “I’m sorry… I’m not calling it off.  _Please_  stop asking.” Over the last few weeks they’d held the discussion time and again, “I told Cassian it was his decision, I know he’s excited, I won’t change my mind.  _Especially_  not the morning of the ceremonies.”

Her little sister smiled and pulled a stool so that she could sit in front of her, “I was going to say it’s not too late to change your mind about speaking to Cassian. It might help your nerves.”

“Tell Rhys to tell Cassian… His hair had  _better_  be clean and combed or I  _will_  destroy him.”

Feyre just chuckled, then paused while she relayed the message, “Cassian’s hair  _is_  clean, and he says he loves you too.”

It was nearly three weeks since Cassian left to inspect the Illyrian camps with Rhys. Just over half a year after the war with Hybern and many were  _still_  recovering from the sheer loss of life. Females were being trained in earnest to bolster the ranks, and signs were beginning to show that things were heading towards normal. Feyre winnowed to Rhys most days so that the Illyrians could see their High Lady (and marvel at her wings), but she chose to stay in Velaris to support Nesta rather than live in the field with Rhys.

Among human aristos, it was customary for a bride to enter her marriage bed with her virginity intact. Nesta did not regret for a  _moment_  that night only four months ago when she gave hers to Cassian. Still, the breach of protocol inspired her to propose a break in their lovemaking- to increase the excitement of their mating. Feyre and Rhys were conscripted to shield the couple’s minds, lest the shadow of the inactive bond draw them together. They’d used it far too often to join illicit fantasies on nights they weren’t together to trust it to remain silent on its own.

_Do this, and the mating ceremony can be as grand as you want. Grander, even._  She knew Cassian would agree- and she knew everything would spiral out of control.

She also knew how much it meant to him, and what it represented.

Cassian was bastard-born, thrown away by his father and orphaned by the cruelty of his Camp Lord towards his mother. He was nothing- less than nothing- and had been raised and disregarded by Rhys’ father as such. Though the young Illyrians called him Lord of Bloodshed, though he was Commander General of the Illyrian armies, Nesta knew he was regarded still as a nobody by the older generation.

All because he was bastard-born.

His  _mate_ , however, was Cauldron-forged.

Nesta was Death itself, the female with the power to level forests, kill hundreds in one fell swoop, and her power was  _stolen_  from the same Cauldron that created their world. She was like Feyre, Amren, and Elain- something  _other_ , something  _unnatural_ , something almost holy to the superstitious Illyrians. A goddess of destruction trapped in Fae form.

That she was Cassian’s mate was the bitter envy of all.

So she agreed to make a spectacle of their marriage- the union of Bloodshed and Death- just to rub their arrogant noses in it.

Nether realized just how badly it would spiral out of control.

They thought the ceremony would be attended by their loved ones- Feyre, Elain, Rhysand, Lucien, Azriel, Amren, Mor, Nuala, and Cerridwen. Perhaps even Madja would be invited- the healer who rebuilt Cassian’s wings twice in half a year. Opening the guest list up as they did- forcing the Illyrian Camp Leaders to attend- turned the mating ceremony into an official event.

With the High Lord and Lady of Night wed and mated in secret (then Elain and Lucien’s ‘accidental’ mating), Nesta’s mating to Cassian took on added significance. The Illyrian Lords would attend, but they would be held in check by dignitaries from both Velaris and the Court of Nightmares.

Amren’s date, of course, would be Varian. Since the heir apparent to Summer would be surrounded by one of the Night Court’s armies, the aristos of Summer demanded he be guarded by a legion of their own. Rhys knew that Tarquin was to be his great ally in his effort to rip down social barriers for lesser fae, so he invited the High Lord to attend as well. That  _quadrupled_  the number of soldiers expected.

Mor invited Viviane, but after she’d accepted the invitation Kallias made her High Lady of Winter. He would not let his High Lady or mate enter Night alone, so  _he_  was also coming with the appropriate retinue.

Helion then sent word to Rhys that he wanted to attend “To mourn the loss of a fine male with all who loved him,” adding  _another_  retinue of guards.

With Four High Lords in attendance (and two High Ladies), it was only polite to invite Thesan. Regrettably, Beron and Tamlin  _also_  had to be included to avoid an inter-court slight while the human queens still posed a potential threat.

No one thought they would all agree to attend. Azriel’s spies reported that the Lady of Autumn accepted the invitation instantly, probably thanks to reports that Lucien had mated with Elain Archeron. Eris convinced his brothers to side with her- a way to protect their mother from the worst of Beron’s wrath- and so Autumn was coming too. Thesan accepted the invite shortly after. With all other High Lords committed to the ceremony, Tamlin had no choice  _but_  to say yes. He was trying to make amends for his past errors, he was  _trying_ to be the High Lord Spring deserved, but he was  _not_  looking forward to entering a ceremony filled with Illyrians. Not considering his role in the deaths of Rhysand’s mother and sister in their territory.

With  _every_  High Lord and Lady,  _plus_  their retinues, the Court of Nightmares,  _and_  the Governors of Velaris, the Illyrian Camp Lords all came with their warriors. The ceremony was moved to a great plane in the middle of the Illyrian steppes to accommodate the sheer scale of the guest list.

What should have been a small affair became, well, a reunion of the Prythian armies.

Miryam and Drakon were uncomfortable leaving the Cauldron, so they sent a delegation with their apologies, a mating gift, and an open invitation for Nesta and Cassian to visit whenever they wished.

As the guest list exploded, Feyre repeatedly reminded both Nesta and Cassian that there was nothing wrong with eloping. Nesta wasn’t sure what bothered Feyre more: all the people who would watch as she and Rhys officiated the Illyrian ceremony, the stresses of hosting so many soldiers, or the fact that Tamlin would be there with a group of guards and his new advisors- citizens of Spring she had manipulated through equal portions truth and trickery.

Spring was probably as safe for her as Night for Tamlin. He was making significant progress in rebuilding trust and good will, but Nesta knew her sister was worried she had taken his place as a monster in the eyes of her former people.

_Today_  all the planning and preparation was coming to a head. Cassian was on that field of tents now, readying for the first of three ceremonies: Illyrian, human, and a traditional Fae presentation of food. Nesta, Feyre, Mor, Amren, and Elain were in Velaris readying.

“Eat this,” Mor shoved what looked like a cube of taffy in Nesta’s mouth. She growled, but ate it all the same.

It wasn’t sweet, but the flavor was difficult to pin down, “What is it?”

Mor shrugged and returned to the vanity to gather kohl for Nesta’s eyes, “When someone is too ill to eat or wishes to lose weight, they eat those. It will keep you upright for four or five hours. By then the third ceremony will begin and you will be eating anyways. Close your eyes.” She quickly dipped a thin brush in the kohl and set to work.

Usually, Nuala and Cerridwen helped prepare the females, but Feyre had asked them to ply their trade on Cassian, Rhysand, Azriel, Lucien, and Varian. Nesta could breathe a little easier knowing the males would be immaculate. The twins would meet the girls in the bridal tent, where they would shepherd Feyre to the Night Court tents to finish getting ready.

“Done.” Elain sighed and rolled her shoulders. She set her paintbrush aside and went to help Amren pin Nesta’s veil in place.

When Mor finished lining Nesta’s eyes, she opened them and inspected Elain and Feyre’s handiwork. As per Illyrian custom, they had painted delicate, intricately detailed whorls up both arms from her fingers to shoulders. They joined in a ridged pattern across Nesta’s chest- one that mirrored Cassian’s own tattoos.

Feyre designed the entire thing with Rhys’ help. Any Illyrian close enough to clearly see her would read on Nesta’s skin the marks of her bloodline, her victory in battle against Hybern, and the equal might of her Mate. Magic Feyre sunk into Elain’s brush ensured that their writing was symmetrical and that the blue ink would mirror Feyre’s side perfectly.

“Are you ready to winnow into camp?” Amren placed a few jasmine flowers into Nesta’s hair and Mor returned only long enough to brush some stain across her lips.

Her stomach churned, but Nesta took a deep breath and nodded. Feyre’s magic washed over the paint, sinking it beneath the skin. It would fade within a couple of weeks, but no longer risked smearing. Nesta stood, and her sisters helped her pull her white gown up to cover her chest and hide her underclothes.

The gown was a compromise between Illyrian and human designs. It fell to the ground in a simple loose skirt free of embellishment and covered her breasts, but left her chest largely exposed to emphasize the ink. A white belt sat high on her ribs and attached to a gauze-like shawl that covered her shoulders. The thin fabric did little to interrupt the painted designs.

Nesta did not mind the low neckline or even transparent ‘sleeves’, but when she’d chosen the dress it was still just for a ceremony with her family and Illyrian generals in attendance. Now that half of Prythian would be there, she was more than a little nervous. Per Illyrian tradition, the dress was largely backless to show off the wings of the female, hobbled as they were. For Nesta it was just… drafty. Even when Feyre added a shield to the glamour she used to hide the undergarments, Nesta was highly aware of how much skin was exposed beneath the trailing veil Amren clipped into place.

The other females wore matching gowns of navy blue- the official color for the Night Court. Silver filigree banded around their necks to hold up the front of the gowns, then another transparent line ran beneath their breasts, linking the top and bottom portions of the dress. It was a more modest version of the traditional Court attire- those loose pants and the too-short shirt that exposed their midriff.

Feyre would be in a simple navy gown void of decoration (other than the crown and necklace she would be wearing). She was High Lady of Night this day, not Nesta’s handmaiden. Another change thanks to the decision to allow the Illyrian generals in- and how that choice snowballed into a continental wedding.

With the dress fully on, her hair done, makeup applied, veil fixed, and the paint sunk beneath her skin, it was time for the females to winnow into the bridal tent and signal that they were ready for the processional to begin. Nesta wouldn’t see Cassian until she began the half-mile walk through the Illyrian honor guard towards the dais, where every High Lord and Lady in Prythian would be waiting.

Nesta took Feyre and Elain’s hands in hers and swallowed past the lump in her throat. She didn’t look at them,  _couldn’t_ , not while thoughts were so near of who  _wouldn’t_  be attending: the mother long dead, and the father cut down before Nesta could give him her forgiveness.

Feyre’s breath hitched and Elain squeezed her hand. Knowing her sister’s shared her thoughts both eased the burden and somehow made the absences harder to ignore.

“Oh no you don’t.” Mor flicked her wrist at Nesta even as she took Elain and pulled her away. “Don’t fuck up my hard work before you even  _see_  Cassian.” A shield slipped over the makeup to protect it from tears.

Elain and Mor vanished soon after, followed by Amren.

“Ready?” Feyre asked.

“Ready.”

A single step through the void and Nesta was hit with a wave of noise and the smell of warriors surrounding them. They were in a white pavilion carpeted in rich rugs with piles of pillows strewn about. A refreshment table off to the side held water and a few small breakfast items. Mor and Elain were standing in front of a mirror, making their final adjustments before the ceremonies began.

“Look.” Feyre nodded to a table in the corner of the tent. On the top of it was a large, flat box crossed with Illyrian markings.

Nesta was ten feet away and she still smelled Cassian’s cinnamon scent wafting from the box. The gift was from him. She quickly went to see what her husband-to-be had sent.

> ‘Ha-ha. You’re stuck with me.’

The note on top chased away any pain or lingering nerves. That scent, that bratty tone- that was  _hers_  now.  _He_  was hers.

She opened the box, and her heart nearly burst.

Delicate plates of white gold were carved with intricate shapes and held together by near-invisible chains. Nine ruby stones were embedded in those plates and when Nesta touched them they exploded in light. Their glow filled the engraved channels, making it look as if someone had scraped the gold away to expose something red just beneath the surface. Those nine stones, the way they glowed when she touched them-

“Traditionalists among the Illyrians still believe there is no purpose for females beyond breeding stock or to use as a hostage against their mates.” Feyre lifted the chains and moved behind Nesta to fix the gold onto the back of her dress in place of wings, “Cassian asked Rhysand after your first time  _alone_  together for permission to have this made. He asked as an Illyrian to his Camp Lord, then he asked me to make sure the measurements were correct.” Feyre hooked the backing in place through a series of small hooks hidden in the gown for  _just_  this reason.

Nine siphons.  _Nine_. As the chains held them against her back, every last one of them glowed bright. Cassian’s gift gave her a bit more modesty than the veil, but it also sent a very clear message to anyone in attendance: Nesta was  _not_  his equal. She was his  _superior_. Nine siphons against his seven- she was not one to threaten. She was one to respect and fear.

“What does it say?” she held her veil aside and tried to see the design in the mirror.

Feyre traced the symbols once the chains were hooked and did her best to recall the lessons Rhys had given her, “Cauldron-forged. Cauldron-blessed. Cauldron-conqueror. Demon-witch.” She frowned at the last title, but Nesta only laughed.

“It’s a pet name.”

Somewhere in the distance, trumpets blared, signaling the start of the processional. It would take more than half an hour, beginning with the visiting High Lords (and Lady), followed by Kier and his wife, then the Governors of Velaris’ four Palaces, the Illyrian Camp Lords, the priestess who oversaw Feyre’s swearing in as High Lady, Rhys and Feyre themselves, and Nesta’s handmaids escorted by their males.

Once all were in place, Cassian would enter and when he reached the dais, it was Nesta’s turn.

Human weddings had the bride brought forward by her father or oldest male relative to be  _given_  to their husband. Nesta would present herself.

“I will see you up there.” Feyre gave her a tight hug and rushed out to the tent where Rhys, Nuala, and Cerridwen were waiting.

The roar of life outside quieted as everyone watched the High Lords. Tamlin would enter first, alone, followed by Beron with Lucien’s mother, Kallias and Viviane, Thesan and his mate, Tarquin, then Helion. From the southern end of Prythian to the north- at least that was how Rhys explained it to them. Really, his favorites were closer to him.

Elain took Nesta’s hand and squeezed it with a smile. She was scared too, and with good reason. This would be the first time she ever really  _met_  Lucien’s parents, let alone meeting them as his  _mate_. Mor and Amren came to the Archeron sisters and waited as the minutes dragged on. After a long while, the music changed. Kier and his wife were on their way up to the dais. The Governors of Velaris followed after, then the Illyrian Camp Lords.

As predicted, more than half an hour passed before there was a great swelling in the trumpets- Feyre and Rhys would enter, followed by the priestess.

All too slowly and yet all too soon, it was time for Amren, Mor, and Elain to leave and join their male escorts outside. Elain kissed Nesta’s cheek, wiped at her own eyes, and went to find her mate.

Once that group had reached the dais, the trumpets faded. Illyrian drums pounded out suddenly and a great cheer rose from the armies of the Illyrian steppes. Nesta  _heard_  Cassian walk past the bridal tent, despite the cacophony of sound. A talon lightly scraped the tent wall as he passed, wings wholly unfurled. His siphons  _bled_  power, not filling the world like Rhys or Feyre did, but that wave of might was certainly enough to make his presence known.

Three weeks since she last saw him, and when a breath of cinnamon air slid into the tent, everything in her wanted nothing more than to tackle him and mate with him right there in the middle of the tents, audience be damned. Nesta heard a soft chuckle, then his hand stroked the wall of the tent in silent promise.

She was  _prowling_  by the time the drums paused, trumpets blared once, and the drums began to pound again. Finally, Nesta threw open the tent flap and stepped out into the gathered masses.

The bride’s tent sat directly across from the groom’s, and at the very end of the wedding aisle. She walked straight-backed to the center and stared down the  _army_  gathered around.

If it weren’t for the war, Nesta might have turned right back around and hid in the tent. Unfortunately (or perhaps  _fortunately_ for Cassian’s sake) she’d stood with the Night Court’s Inner Circle before so many before.

Having all of the attention focused on her was something new though.

Tens of thousands lined the long wedding aisle- Illyrian, faere, and High Fae alike. They’d come with their courts from across Prythian to bask in the presence of the Archerons, to see for themselves the newly revealed Court of Dreams and Nightmares. Feyre Cursebreaker, the human-turned-fae who’d first saved them all from Amarantha was smiling in the distance beside the priestess. Between the heads Elain was just barely visible. She’d drawn significant whispers herself, being the female who first stabbed Hybern.

Nesta, however, was the Archeron who sawed off the King’s head and ended the battle.

She was the Archeron who stole sacred might from the Cauldron itself, and as a  _human_  no less.

Fate had touched the Archeron line, and within a year all of Prythian had seen the impossible from the three sisters. The entire continent lived in fear and wonder at what they might do with a  _hundred_  years, or even a thousand.

Nesta stepped onto the velvet carpet of the aisle and did precisely as Amren taught her: she hauled up that piece she’d taken from the Cauldron- a chunk of creation itself- and lowered her shields. The whisper of the Cauldron’s might touched everyone she passed. Her magic was something heavy, unnatural, and powerful enough to make even Rhysand nervous.

She was a contradiction to herself. A vision of the perfect half-human, half-fae bride in her long white gown with a delicate veil trailing behind her. Slender, proud, delicate, imperious, and devastatingly beautiful… Yet those siphons on her back glowed bright, nearly cracking with that sense of  _other_  bleeding from her. Something dark and cold shone in her eyes, as though a demon prowled beneath that angelic surface.

Whispers spread from those she passed once they saw the jeweled backing, the siphons straining to contain Nesta’s raw power. Many made signs to ward against evil.

_Let them fear me._  Nesa let a little more of that other-ness creep into her eyes. Most took a step back.  _See what the Cauldron deemed equal to your bastard-born nobody. The child you abused, the boy left to scrape out a survival in the cold. Look at his mate, his equal, and know that I claim that male as my prize above everyone gathered here._

Cassian’s wings peeked out over the army and a bit of the danger slid from Nesta’s eyes. Death herself, a proclaimed ‘Demon-witch’, and yet when she saw even a single obsidian talon, ferocity melted into love.

The High Lords and Ladies of Prythian stood tall in muted finery. All kept their power dampened somewhat, lending themselves to the holy ceremony without overshadowing the couple. Tamlin did not so much as cast an eye to Feyre or Lucien. The Lady of Autumn who had studied Elain when she ascended the dais now stared ahead. Even Beron’s natural sneer was mostly gone (Rhys had leveled  _powerful_  threats to keep him from spoiling the happy day). Nesta marked every one of them, even as she walked a little faster,  _desperate_  for a glimpse of her mate.

When she saw him at long last, her heart soared. His hair was indeed brushed and clean, his uniform as polished as those razer-sharp talons on his wings. He stood just a bit taller when her blue eyes met his hazel and Nesta’s breath caught in her throat. A look of wonder spread across his face with no mask daring to hide it. Love, pride, and joy made those eyes overbright.

_Home. Love. Mate._

There were more than a few shouts of alarm when Nesta vanished, reappearing before Cassian in an instant.

Her first-ever winnow was to him.

Mirth danced in his eyes as gasps went through the crowd and the drums stopped. Rhys laughed first, followed by Helion and Tarquin. Even Feyre and the priestess laughed at the impatient bride before Cassian took her hands in his and the first ceremony began.

They played their roles in the Illyrian ceremony and nodded graciously as each Camp Lord stepped forward to pledge to protect their Commander General and his mate. The human ceremony followed immediately on its tail.

Nesta and Cassian spoke when prompted, gave the traditional vows, but never once did his eyes leave hers. His touch, his scent- they had been apart for  _three weeks_ , and not until his hands held hers did she realize just how horribly she’d missed those teasing eyes and that cocky smile. Only with her standing before him as radiant as a goddess on high could he acknowledge how thoroughly it had wrecked him to be apart from her for so long.

Rhysand held Nesta’s ring, and he said a blessing over it before handing it to Cassian. The male recited a final oath to love, honor, and cherish his bride, then slid the silver ring onto her finger. It held one last red siphon that flared to life as it touched her skin. Feyre brought forth the band Nesta chose for Cassian- one of silver engraved with Illyrian glyphs declaring him her Mate. She blessed it just as Rhysand had, then gave it to her sister.

The priestess raised her hands once the rings were in place and declared Cassian and Nesta mates in the eyes of the Cauldron, and married in the eyes of the gods of faeries, humans, and Illyrians. Their union- a bargain between souls to always honor the oaths sworn that day- was to be sealed with a kiss.

“You’re stuck with me now.” Cassian whispered.

“ _You’re_  stuck with  _me_.”

He laughed, and lifted Nesta into his arms to kiss her. She threw every bit of will she possessed into an image- a form she wanted the physical manifestation of their bargain to appear in. There was a ripple of heat across her skin and Nesta felt Cassian smiling against her mouth as the assembled crowd exploded into riotous cheers. He broke the kiss to smile at Feyre and Rhysand- now family in an entirely new way- before kissing Nesta once more.

Cassian set her down, flashed a grin to Azriel, and led his bride off the dais. They hurried from the dais together, through the crowd of Illyrians both cheering at marveling at the couple that passed, and the seventeen red siphons burning with their sheer  _might_.

As soon as they entered the bridal tent, Cassian swept Nesta up into his arms and spun her around, “My wife.”

“My husband.” She couldn’t smile broadly enough at the simple joy on her mate’s face. They kissed again and Cassian laughed.

“Go get changed,” Nesta nodded to a flap at the back of the tent where a looser, lighter set of clothes waited for the far less formal fae ceremony. “Unless you  _want_  to dine in full armor?”

Cassian pouted, looking for any excuse to skip the fae ceremony and leave with his bride then and there. He grumbled and set her down, flicking the delicate tulle of her veil, “I never understood why human women wore those.” He backed towards the changing areas, “You know what though? It’s giving me ideas. Too bad you’re taking it off.”

“Go,  _husband_ , we only have an hour until the next ceremony.” Nesta made a face.

Cassian savored the sight of her in her gown one more time, “As you wish,  _wife_.”

While Rhys made speeches to the assembled Illyrians, faerie, and fae (mostly threats about what would happen if anyone started a fight), Nesta and Cassian were to change into more comfortable clothes for the mating ceremony. They would be seated at the head of three tables in the center of the High Lords. Nesta would present Cassian with the Illyrian dish she had set to cook that morning (which Mor would winnow back to Velaris to get).

The third ceremony was more of a reception than anything. The Illyrian Camp Lords would be in attendance along with the High Lords and Ladies, the Governors of Velaris, and Kier- seated as far away from anyone consequential as possible. All assembled soldiers- and most of the guard from each Court- would be competing in various games against one another. After the meal, Nesta and Cassian would leave and the rest would remain to watch.

While the Illyrians and the other soldiers prepared for their fun, and those on the dais took a break on their way to the dining pavilion, Cassian and Nesta would have a chance to catch their wits and simply be with one another. Feyre and Rhys made each swear binding oaths to not mate before the final ceremony- putting Cassian in a room full of males while fresh in the mating frenzy was nothing short of suicidal.

Mating was only allowed  _before_  the first ceremony or  _after_  the third.

Cassian reminded himself of that constantly as he let the ceremonial Illyrian leathers fall into a heap on the floor. He pulled on white linen pants and an embroidered tunic, smiling at the memory of Nesta walking through the Illyrian army as that veil caught the wind. ‘Radiant’ did not do it justice. It was as if a goddess walked among those soldiers.

Nesta was his heart, his soul, and his reason to smile- yet in that moment he’d realized with a start she was also his home, his future, and his light in any darkness.

When he stepped out of the dressing room, he also remembered he was his bane.

She was sitting with her back to him, kneeling on a thick red rug with her veil arranged all around her-

-and beneath it she was utterly naked.

“I didn’t want you getting too disappointed,” Nesta said sweetly. She did not turn to face him.

“You are a  _monster_ ,” he rasped. Cassian knew that after three weeks away from Nesta he couldn’t stop himself from mating with her wholly if they made love. There was no more fending off the bond.

He didn’t know where to look as he walked up slowly behind her- at the curve of her hips? The dimples just above her rear? At the way her back moved as she swayed? Or perhaps at the new and very permanent tattoo that marked their vows to one another upon the dais-

-a great pair of Illyrian wings that spread from shoulder to shoulder. Nesta’s hips swayed as Cassian approached. His hand touched her veil, traced the line of her tattoo.  

“Do you like the wings?” Nesta sighed.

“They’re beautiful.” He tore his eyes from the tattoo when he heard a soft, slick sound. He stepped around Nesta and stood in front of her.

“I can’t help it. I know we  _swore_ , but I want you so badly.” The movement of her hips continued, slow and rhythmic. He could  _smell_  her arousal.

Cassian watched the fingers of Nesta’s right hand part her folds and dip into her core. Another wave of scent hit him as she rubbed her wet fingers around her knot and leaned back a little, putting herself on display for her mate. Her left hand flicked and twisted her nipple, and Cassian swallowed hard against the urge to run his teeth across it.

“I can’t have you yet,” Nesta whispered, staring up at him, “but I need you, and I can’t wait.” Her lust-glazed eyes were pleading.

Cassian knew what she wanted.

He pulled his linen pants down to his ankles and threw aside his shirt. Along his ribs- where Nesta liked to stroke his sides as they recovered from their lovemaking, were the marks of his vows. He’d chosen to mark his body in a place that would remind Nesta of their union- and the oaths he swore to her- every time they came together.

Cassian stood erect already, and when he knelt down knee-to-knee with Nesta, she stopped her slow strokes until he held his palm out to her, pleading. She did not trust herself to touch him while she was aroused, nor him her. She leaned forward and spit into his fingers. He immediately took his cock in hand and rubbed his mate’s scent into the shaft.

As soon as he was ready, he nodded. Nesta slid her fingers back inside and Cassian matched the strokes of her hand with his. She gasped as she stared into his eyes, her cheeks flush. Her hips rolled and those fingers began to feel thicker, longer. To Cassian the hand around his cock became softer. The shadow of that mating bond joined them just as it had before their first night together, when Nesta and Cassian stroked themselves in two very separate baths.

“You look… so beautiful…” Cassian breathed.

“It’s for you.” Nesta moaned, grinding her hips against her hand, “When this ceremony is over I’m going to  _drag_  you out of that tent and-“ those fingers that weren’t quite hers raked across a sensitive ridge of skin deep inside, “ _yes!”_

Cassian stroked himself harder to match the pace of her fingers. His bride parted her legs further so that he could see how wet even thinking about having him was making her. Moisture dripped from her and she squeezed her other breast hard.

“ _You’re so deep_ ,” she gasped, those blue eyes still on his, “ _so deep inside me. It feels so good, don’t stop!”_

“Nesta,” he groaned, wishing he could feel her lips around his wing, “you’re going to make me-“

“ _Come!”_  she rose higher and began to ride her fingers in earnest.

Cassian took one look as Nesta parted her folds again and his balls tightened. She raked her fingers across her knot and plunged them back into her body with a cry of pleasure.  “ _Come for your wife_.”

_Wife_. That word completely wrecked him.

“ _Nesta!”_  Cassian’s hips bucked and cum began to pump from his cock, thick and hot.

A rope of it hit Nesta’s leg and she quickly swiped it up in her wet fingers, then plunged them in once more.

Nesta did not even get the  _chance_  to say his name. His cum made her burn wherever it touched, made her pleasure molten and her hips buck. When another spray landed across her stomach she took that and ground it against her knot.

She screamed as Cassian groaned and leaned forward, still pumping as more cum shot from him in a third, fourth, and fifth rope to land across her folds. Nesta quickly pushed it into her waiting body. Her own juices drenched the rug as she furiously ground her mate’s release into her body.

At last her climax ended and she slowed her fingers. Cassian was panting still when she fell back and gently rubbed her core, soothing her body. He watched her as she got to her feet, veil floating around her, and gathered two hand towels from the private latrine. She wetted them with a silver pitcher and tossed one to Cassian.

“We still have to go to the other ceremony, I’d prefer not having everyone smell us.” Cool as her words were, her breasts were will peaked and the skin between her legs was red and hungry for more.

He pouted as she wiped his scent from between her legs and made a show of cleaning her fingers, “Such a waste. I could have licked you clean.”

“Neither of us could stop that once it started.” She tossed the towel aside and smiled as Cassian did the same. He pulled his pants back up and yanked his shirt over his head.

“Thank you.” Cassian pulled Nesta’s naked body against him, relishing not only the feeling of her breasts against his chest, but simply  _holding_  her. His friend, his lover, his wife, his mate.

“That  _was_  a nice way to take the edge off.” She kissed him, a long, slow kiss that made her toes curl with delight. When the kiss broke, both were smiling, “Thank you for the siphons. Do they go on the second dress too?”

He nodded, “Nuala and Cerridwen were careful to make sure they would fit.”

“Help me, then.” Nesta let Cassian pull the veil from her hair and arched her back  _just enough_  to make him swallow hard. He only tore his eyes from her full breasts when she turned to fetch her second dress- and then only to watch the curve of her ass as she walked away.

She pulled a second white gown from behind a dressing curtain and threw it at Cassian, “When you’re done, hand it to me without peeking.”

While Cassian set about finding Nesta’s dress and removing the siphon backing, Neta was in the dressing room pulling on delicate white lace underclothes she could barely even  _look at_  without blushing. Elain and Feyre had taken her to the lace store in Velaris to prepare for her mating night. While Nesta browsed with a beat-red face, Feyre and Elain also bought some delicates to wear for their males. They told her what to expect when the frenzy took hold- which was  _mortifying_  coming from her younger sisters.

Still, Nesta filed the information away in her mind.

“All done, wife.” Cassian’s hand appeared through the cloth flaps with her second gown.

“Thank you,  _husband_.” Nesta just loved saying the word and knowing that for the rest of her life, that word was his alone. He felt the same whenever he called her ‘wife’, and soon enough they would truly add ‘mate’ to the list by at last activating their bond.

Nesta took the dress and, on a whim, angled her chest so that the back of his knuckles brushed across the flimsy lace on her breast.

“Demon-witch!” he hissed and snatched his hand back.

She laughed and finished dressing with a smile on her face.

Her second gown was more Court of Nightmares in the design, with Illyrian elements to bring it to Nesta’s standards of dress. Two long panels ran over her breasts and gathered at a wide, jeweled band that crossed her torso. Layers upon layers of loose strips of tulle formed the skirt, but Nuala and Cerridwen had added a white underskirt that was invisible unless Nesta sat down. It ensured the strips of cloth did not shift to expose her legs. The top half of the dress, which left her chest exposed all the way down to her naval, had been filled in with thick white gauze and a layer of Illyrian-made lace.

Overall it was looser than her first dress, cooler in the late summer heat (not that Rhys would allow the pavilion to grow too warm), and matched Cassian’s light tunic fairly well.

“I like this dress too.” Cassian grinned when Nesta stepped out at last.

“Good, you’ll be taking it off of me later.”

Cassian closed his eyes and bit his lip. His brow furrowed in intense concentration.

“What are you doing?”

“Picturing Azriel naked. We don’t have time for another bit of fun and when you say stuff like that-“convincing his cock to stand down was a battle he  _had_  to win.

Nesta bit her lip to stifle the laugh, “Well? What’s he look like?”

“Small. We aren’t going to the cabin by the way. Not the one I was talking about at least.”

“Why not?” Cassian had seemed  _so excited_  to take her to the mountain cabin the Inner Circle vacationed in. It was all he’d talked about as they planned the day (until it spiraled out of control).

“I went there three weeks ago to see if I needed to get anything ready- Feyre vandalized the place. Mor and Amren’s eyes are  _painted above the door_. They follow you…” The drawings were cute and added a sense of  _home_  to the cabin, but he was not mating Nesta under the watchful gaze of  _Amren_  and the female who took his virginity. It was too weird. “Don’t worry, I have somewhere else we can go.”

“Eye-free?”

Cassian smiled, “The others don’t even know it exists. On a trip through the northern territories a few hundred years ago, I found this lake. There was a hermitess who lived there- someone who’d escaped the Court of Nightmares and managed to walk the breadth of the Night Court without being caught by predator or faerie. I offered to bring her some supplies- little things to make her life a bit easier. When she faded, I was there to see her off. She told me to make the lake a home.”

A hint of sadness had crept into his eyes at the memory of that old friend, and Nesta pulled him into a warm hug. He cleared his throat and kissed the top of her head, “Over the centuries I’ve begun building cabins around it. As much as she loved her solitude, she was lonely. She would want the lake filled with laughter and life. I figured one day, when all of us had brides or mates of our own, we could take our families there. It isn’t done yet, but I’m getting close. I don’t want them to know about it until everything is finished.”

“Then I am  _honored_  to mate with you there- in every cabin if that is what you want.”

He beamed, “If I’m honest, it  _is_  a better view than the other cabin. It’s probably the second safest place in all of Prythian as well.”

On the eastern edge of Velaris was a great pile of stones- the same that made up the walls. They were seated with that same magic that kept the city safe and away from prying eyes. Whichever High Lord supposedly warded the walls with his own lifeblood had also extended the magics to those stones- in case the city needed to be expanded or repairs had to be made. Cassian had stolen the heavy stones, straining as he flew them one by one to his lake. He’d arranged them here and there in a mighty circle surrounding where he intended to build the cabins and extended the circle up into the mountain at the back of the lake. Even though the stones were hundreds of feet apart, as soon as the last one was set and the circle was sealed, Cassian  _felt_  the magic snap into place, protecting that lake and anyone inside.

Deep in the Illyrian territory as it was, the wards would keep out everything short of an army. When those cabins were filled with the mates and children of the Inner Circle, no protection was too great. The sting of what happened to Rhys’ sister and mother was too fresh in Cassian’s memory to ever risk that again.

“Are you two ready?” Mor hit the side of the bridal tent and Cassian was forced to release Nesta.

“We leave as soon as possible,” she whispered, then headed out.

Mor, Azriel, Elain, Lucien, Amren, and Varian were waiting between the bridal and grooms tents. The males had all changed into navy tunics with white linen pants to match Cassian’s. The females wore lightweight navy versions of their dresses from the first ceremony.

“The first Archeron to marry properly, of course it would be you.” Elain laughed and wrapped hear arms around her sister’s neck immediately. The males were clapping Cassian on the back.

Amren sniffed Nesta as she offered the next hug. When Nesta released her, she looked to Varian, “Not mated.” There was a flurry of gold in the air as coins exchanged hands.

“STOP BETTING ON OUR MATING!” Cassian snapped.

Drums started from somewhere deeper into the city of tents and Mor hit Cassian, “Go feed your wife, there’s still time for her to come to her senses and flee before she mates you.”

“When you put it  _that_  way-“ Cassian dove for Nesta and hauled her up unceremoniously over one shoulder. She shouted in indignation as he jogged a few steps away from the group.

“Put me down or I  _will_  have a headache tonight.” It was an empty threat, but Cassian had her on her feet faster than she thought he was capable of moving.

The group fell into a line with the females on the left of their males. At the edge of the dining tent, Mor pointed to a small table with two covered dishes on top, “Yours is on the right. I brought it over about ten minutes ago, but it’s still very hot.”

“Thank you so much for all your help.” It was next to impossible to find an Illyrian tandoor in Velaris for Nesta to cook in. Mercifully, a friend of Mor’s ran a restaurant that had once experimented with Illyrian fusion cuisine. They’d given up fairly quickly, but she still had the tandoor in a basement junk room. The dish had gone in before Nesta even began to dress that morning. Mor had offered to finish assembling it once it was cooked and bring it to the tent by the time their ceremony came around.  

Mor smiled brightly and hooked her arm through Azriel’s. The flaps of the tent drew back and he escorted her inside. Cassian and Lucien- each without their females- followed suit, with Amren and Varian making up the end of the gathering.

When they had made their way around the throng of people to take their places at the head of the long tables, the drums stopped at last.

Elain took the top off of a dish (supplied by the kitchens) and entered ahead of her sister. She was mated already, and therefore did not have to prepare her dish herself. Presenting hers to Lucien was more of a gesture than anything official within the ceremony. If Feyre was not hosting as High Lady, she would have been expected to bring something for Rhysand too (though it was more likely he would buck tradition and bring  _her_  food).

Nesta took the top off of the dish. When the scent of chicken, rice, and herbs hit her she was suddenly (and audibly) reminded that she had not eaten that day. She picked up the dish and waited for her stomach to stop growling before entering the tent.

Everyone was standing, waiting for her. The Illyrian Camp Lords- on the eastern side of the tent- bowed as she passed. Kier and the Governors of Velaris were on the western side. At the back of the room, the High Lords stood with their High Ladies, Thesan with his husband, and Beron with Eris on one side and the Lady of Autumn on the other, doing her best to not stare at Elain as she passed by.

The head table was  _massive_ , long enough to seat twenty side-to-side. Cassian and Nesta would be in the center, with Lucien and Elain on one side, and Feyre and Rhysand on the other. Mor and Azriel were seated between Viviane and Thesan, Amren with Varian between Tarquin and Eris- presumably so that the terrifying little female could act as a constant reminder of his promise to behave himself at the ceremony. On Elain’s left side was Helion, put beside the girl and her mate as a happy coincidence of seating (which Feyre was decidedly responsible for).

Nesta walked through the center of the room as everyone watched. Her spot at the table vanished to allow her through, then reappeared so that she could turn to face the assembled Lords, High Lords, and Governors. The priestess- seated beside the Governor of the Palace of Thread and Jewels- stood as everyone save Cassian and Nesta sat down.

“I hereby declare and recognize the mating bond between you. May the Cauldron bless you this day, and every day that follows.” She bowed low.

Nesta handed the plate of food to Cassian, “If I remember correctly, makbus is your favorite?” A couple of the friendlier Camp Lords were sniffing the air appreciatively. Cassian grinned and picked up a chunk of chicken. He chewed it slowly, grinning at Nesta. When he swallowed, a great cheer rose up from the High Lords, Governors, and many of the Camp Lords. The drums sounded again as Cassian sat down- beginning the warrior games outside.

“I made you something too.” Cassian nudged Nesta as Rhys waved a hand and food filled every table. In front of Nesta appeared a steaming plate of the same spicy Illyrian dish he’d made for her the night they first made love.

And so Nesta and Cassian ate, surrounded by their family, friends, and a few people they wouldn’t mind seeing dead. An Illyrian Camp Lord with a sallow face and black hair had to leave early after his food decided not to agree with him. He’d spent the first bit of the meal shooting sneers at Azriel, who was utterly ignoring him. Cassian’s chuckle when he fled earned an arched eyebrow from Nesta.

“It’s unfortunate when kerding powder accidentally finds its way into someone’s food,” he said softly. “Doubly so when it’s Azriel’s own dear brother.”

His brother. One of the males who tortured the boy throughout his childhood and scarred his hands so horribly.

“You should have killed him.”

Azriel leaned over far enough to make eye contact with Cassian from his end of the table. Cassian winked and he stifled a snicker, “We poison him at every gathering. It’s a treasured pastime, until Azriel is ready for me and Rhys to kill him.”

“I’d like to help with that.” What his brothers had done to a defenseless child  _already_  kept in a cage was disgusting.

“There is a line.” Feyre took a sip of her wine.

After he and Elain had both cleaned their plates, Lucien stood. Tamlin was quietly eating at the far end of the high table. Lucien kissed Elain on the forehead and went to greet his old friend.

Considering Tamlin’s role in turning Nesta and Elain to High Fae, his abuse and neglect of Feyre, and his former alliance with Hybern (regardless of whose side he fought for in the end), all eyes were on Lucien as he held out a hand to shake Tamlin’s. No one but Rhysand, Feyre, and him knew the truth of Tamlin’s downfall- how he’d been driven mad trying to hide the fact that  _Amarantha_  was his mate. All the gathered Lords knew was that something had changed- the vitriol and animosity were gone when he looked at Feyre and Rhysand.

Helion took advantage of the distraction to whisper to Elain, “You know?”

“I do.”

He smiled gently, “I just wanted to tell you- I am proud to have such a lovely female as my daughter-in-law. He loves you with every fiber of his being, it makes me happy to know that he is cared for.” Helion patted her hand, then settled back into polite conversation as Tamlin stood to embrace Lucien and attention shifted back away from them.

Rhysand had barred the High Lords from bringing mating gifts into the dining pavilion, simply because he knew Nesta and Cassian would want to leave as quickly as possible. Helion in particular grumbled at not being able to give them an illustrated book of  _intimate_ tricks and tips. Viviane managed to slip Nesta a small bundle to hide in a pocket of her dress- fur-lined naughties from her favorite shop in Winter. Nesta accepted them with a shy grin.

After the couple had cleaned their plates and guests began to move about the room to socialize, Rhysand stood. The entire room quieted to hear the High Lord’s words for his Commander General.

“Cassian, it is my distinct displeasure to know that now we are not brothers by choice, but by force.” Cassian laughed and flipped him a rude gesture, “Nesta, I know we have not known each other for long, but I am honored to have you and Elain as my sisters. May your mating be long, happy, and may the child beside you mature  _before_  the Cauldron grants you another.” She laughed as that one earned  _another_  gesture from Cassian.

“To Nesta and Cassian,” Feyre stood and raised a glass of wine. The assembled guests all mirrored her. She was not someone who made speeches as easily as Rhysand, and most of what she thought of he’d already used.

“Now get out,” Rhysand said lightly after they drank to the toast, “you two have waited around here long enough. And Cassian- you’d better hurry before she remembers how annoying you are.”

“I don’t know, Feyre mated with you after seeing how annoying  _you_  are.” Nesta said sweetly to the cheers and jeers of the crowd. Still, she stood with Cassian and smiled brightly up at him. He lifted her in his arms and kissed her again as he had on the dais. A bit of table vanished and Cassian walked out through the crowd with Nesta’s lips still against his. She waved farewell to her sisters and friends, but did not break contact with her mate.

It was time to go to Cassian’s secret cabin. Meaning they could not be winnowed, they had to fly.

As soon as he had enough room to take off, Cassian adjusted Nesta in his arms, broke their kiss at last, and launched into the air. She squealed and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck as they climbed high, the wind roaring in her ears mixed with the cheers of the soldiers below. Nesta focused on keeping her food firmly in her stomach as they leveled out and Cassian shot ahead. His power wrapped around her, shielding her from the wind, but she was not willing to look around them.

Cassian laughed as Nesta buried her face in his neck and he felt her heart race. An Illyrian mated to someone who was afraid of flying- it was a source of endless amusement to him.

They flew for over an hour, shooting through the Night Court territory. It was lucky that they’d been forced to move their mating to the lakeside cabin- he wasn’t entirely thrilled with having to be dropped off by his friends at the other cabin. This way he and Nesta could make the trip together and he could enjoy the scent of her hair and the jasmine braided into it while they sped into the mountains.

Nesta felt something on the horizon rapidly approaching. It was the same scent, same sense of  _other_  that the walls of Velaris leaked out to keep even flying Illyrians at bay. Part of her said to turn around, this was not the way she was supposed to be going, but she knew that was only part of the spell. Cassian shot towards that growing bubble of magic and slammed into it, passed  _through_  it.

He slowed immediately and with a gentle shake, Nesta reluctantly turned her head.

They were gliding about ten feet in the air over dense pine trees that abruptly gave way to a great sapphire lake. A mountain rose sharply from the back half of the lake, and waterfalls poured from it. Cassian dipped lower over the brilliant water as he angled their path towards four large cabins (one half-constructed) built out over the lake itself.

When Cassian said they were cabins, he was definitely selling them short.

Each was roughly the size of the townhouse. They were large homes, mostly to accommodate Illyrians landing. There were large stone-tiled porches that stretched out over the waters, broad balconies on the second floor of each home that could fit two or three Illyrians at once- even the peaked rooves had a special outcropping for a landing. However many winged children the friends had, the lake could accommodate all of them. Windows lined most of the lakefront side, and between each house there were courts for sparring or play, and large open spaces around which groups could gather for a bonfire.

Nesta had lived in manors, cabins, estates, palaces, and a city house- but she’d never seen anything that looked more like a true  _home_.

“A few builders I befriended have been supplying me with the materials. They showed me the spells to keep away the elements and fortify everything for millennia to come.” A large tarp covered part of the fourth house, only half-complete, “I come here when I can, do what I can before my absence is noticed, and so bit by bit it’s come together.” Cassian nodded to a spot near the mountain where a cairn of stones was stacked, “Her cabin was there. After she faded I burned it- an old Illyrian tradition. She will have it in the afterlife and those stones will make sure everyone knows someone was here before.”

Cassian landed on the laketop patio of one cabin and gently set Nesta down, “Well? What do you think of your vacation home?”

Nesta breathed in the fresh mountain air and smiled broadly, “It’s beautiful.”

“It will take a while yet to be finished,” he looked over to the fourth cabin, “I thought I was nearly there, but now I’ll need one for Elain and Lucien too.” He smiled to himself and pulled Nesta closer, “Still, I can’t wait to see their faces when they come here. Those asses guess everything I do before I even think to do it, but they’ll never see this coming.”

The joy in his eyes was utterly contagious. Nesta stood on her toes to kiss him again.

Cassian held Nesta as he took her hand to look at the ring he’d chosen for his mate. Originally it housed a ruby, one he was saving to present in a necklace for their first anniversary. He’d been nervous about putting the siphon in- how it would respond to her power or if she would even like it. Now, seeing her wearing it, he could think of nothing better.

“Wife.” He said it again, relishing the way it wrapped around his very soul and warmed his being, “My wife. My mate.”

He’d had lovers, beautiful fae and some he genuinely cared for and loved for a period, but deep down he was still that little bastard who hung around his poor mother’s neck like a noose until she was buried by the weight of him and the shame of his bastard blood. That ice sat beside his heart for centuries, it made killing easy. His bruised soul bled anew when Rhys went Under the Mountain. For fifty years he’d lived with the screams of the Illyrians howling in his very blood, unable to fight to protect his people or his High Lord.

It broke something, something he was slowly rebuilding.

… and then he met an arrogant, vicious, cruel, angry little human who somehow managed to make him think about her even when he was  _gladly_  out of her presence. He realized in the heart of her own fire and ice was someone sensitive, kind, and deeply caring. A woman- then a female- who was slowly burning to death in the middle of her own flames.

When he made her smile, she grew stronger. When he made her hope, the tempest stilled and something in  _him_  remembered to hope as well.

Bit by bit, Cassian drew Nesta from her fortress. Bit by bit, she found his heart and soothed the wounds that bled there. Cassian knew the next time he killed, his hand would not be guided by ice and wrath. It would be guided by his own mate’s voice in his heart, with every bit of passion she inspired, and with his only thought of the world he was building for her.

“Nesta Archeron,” he moved so that he could look her in the eye, “you are the most infuriating, stubborn, and sharp-tongued woman  _or_  fae I have ever known. You are also the smartest, bravest, and warmest. I swear to you- today and forever- to be worthy of your grace, your smile, and your heart. I vow to always be a pain in your ass-“ Nesta laughed at the old pledge and a tear slipped down her cheek, “-but I will never,  _ever_  cause you pain by word, deed, or thought. I swear my fealty to you above all others- except Rhys and Feyre, it’s a High Lord thing, I can’t help it- and I swear to you that you will never know a single  _moment_  where these vows- and all those made today- are not held sacred in my heart.”

She looked down to tangle her fingers into his, “Cassian,  _Lord of Bloodshed_ -“ he laughed, “I lived my life judging others unworthy of me. Even when were destitute, I was worth more than those around me… and then one day Feyre reappeared, High Fae, strong, powerful, and this ridiculous, puffed-up warrior wandered in and- and somehow that infuriating creature made me want to be more than I was. I hated him, because I knew that  _I_  was not worthy of  _him_.”

Nesta’s eyes found Cassian’s again, “I, Nesta Archeron, vow to do my best to be worthy of your generosity, love, kindness, and bravery. I will love you every day of my life. I will be your friend, your partner, your wife, and your mate, no matter what comes.” Her words were awkward, not as practiced as Cassian’s, but she meant them with everything in her heart. “I have done nothing in my life to deserve the love, respect, and faith of such a wonderful male… but I will work all my days to change that. I vow to always be a pain in your ass, but I will never,  _ever_ cause you pain by word, deed, or thought. I swear my fealty to you above all others- screw Feyre and Rhys- and I swear to you that you will never know a single  _moment_  where these vows are not held sacred in my heart.

They sealed their oaths with a kiss that took the breath from Nesta and Cassian both. His scent washed over her, helped along by a breeze off the lake. He held her hand in his, but pulled her body tighter to him. Nesta’s lips parted, inviting him inside.

Cassian’s tongue slid over Nesta’s. She pulled her hand from his and grabbed his tunic, yanking him down to the cool tile.

He broke the kiss, panting, “Here? You want this  _here_?”

Nesta pulled Viviane’s gift out of her dress and tossed it aside, then busied herself yanking at his shirt. The mating bond was waking up again, and there was no reason to deny it for another  _second_ , “I want you to look at this spot for the rest of your life and remember what it sounded like when my screams echoed back from that mountain.”

He groaned and pulled the shirt off, “I can’t argue with that.”

Nesta let him push her down until she was laying on the tile. He claimed her mouth hard and fast, and she pulled at the skirt of her gown. Cassian grabbed the fabric and threw it up over her stomach. He pulled back to look at her and laughed, “You’ve been wearing those-“

“For nearly three hours, yes.”

She wasn’t so much wearing lace panties as she was wearing two thin  _strips_  of lace. One wrapped around her hips and the other was split in half from the top of her folds around to the back. A string of pearls filled the center between those two halves, warm and already wet.

“I remember you thought I’d like them.”

Cassian’s eyes were glazed as he smiled, “Maybe. We should find out.” Nesta parted her legs for him, opening wide. He grabbed her knees and pushed them further apart, then bit the inside. He kissed and bit his way up her left leg and towards her center. Nesta’s back arched when his cheek pressed against her knot. She  _needed_  him.

He turned his head, nipped at the folds of her sex, then pulled back and began on her right knee. She whimpered and he put a hand on her pelvis, pinning it in place. Cassian again slid closer and closer to his mate’s center, to a taste the primal part of him hungered for without sense or reason. He came closer and closer- then again nipped at her folds before slipping back.

Cassian slid a hand around the band of Nesta’s panties and began to slowly rock them up. The pearls parted her and raked across her knot. She arched her back again and rolled her hips. His mouth found those folds of sensitive flesh parted by the pearls and Cassian sucked one into his mouth, tasting her. He kept rubbing the pearls across her center with torturous rhythm. Nesta tried to reach down to push his face over, into her sex, but Cassian stopped her with a raised eyebrow.

She was propped up on both elbows, watching him while she pinched and twisted at her nipples through the fabric of her dress. Cassian slid his fingers around the pearls and he pushed them into her hot, slick depths. Nesta cried out and tried to rock her hips against him, but that hand held her firm.

“Do you know what I want to do to you right now?” Cassian’s voice was hoarse. He pulled his fingers out until just the tips were inside Nesta, “I want to wrap my arms around your shoulders and slam my cock into you as hard as I can.” While he spoke, he pushed those fingers in, hard but slow. “I bet you would come just from that, you’re so wet.” He pumped his fingers slowly, coaxing gasps and cries from Nesta.

“I want you on top of me, looking down. I want to feel you riding me, I want to feel how  _deep_  I fit in you then.” He rocked the pearls against her knot. Nesta was panting, her hips straining to roll into his touch, “I want to slide my fingers into you even while my cock is there, stretching your body until you feel me with every last ridge. I want to-“

“Then do it.” Nesta whimpered, “Stop teasing me and  _do it_.”

Cassian pulled his fingers from Nesta entirely. He studied the moisture on them, “I wonder how your taste will change after we’re mated.” He licked his fingers clean while he stood. Nesta crawled to him, moaning as the pearls shifted against her knot again. She yanked his pants down and he shifted to step out of them.

Her wedding dress was falling off a shoulder as Nesta looked up at him and began to stroke his cock. Cassian’s mouth twitched into a grin. She moved her hand to the head of his shaft, her thumb traced her name slowly across the sensitive skin.

_“Nesta_ ,” Cassian sighed when she tipped forward and licked along his shaft. She looked up at him while she sucked at his skin and traced her name. Her other hand came up to massage his balls. Cassian thrust his hips forward when Nesta suddenly moved to suck one into her mouth and pulled at the sensitive skin. When she took the other into her mouth, rubbing it with her tongue, she felt his cock throbbing in her hand. Cassian’s hands were around her wrists- not pulling her away or holding her in place, but just so he could touch her in  _some_  way.

When Nesta finished giving his balls all the attention, she at last took him in her mouth.

Once, Cassian thought Nesta might only want sex from him, and would choose to not be his mate. That night- that incredible night just four months ago- he’d stared down at her with raging intensity while she sucked on his cock. He’d memorized every aspect of her that night- the way her cheeks hollowed as she pulled back, the shine of her lips, the swaying of her then-exposed breasts. He’d memorized her taste, the way she screamed when he traced his name into her knot with his tongue, the feeling of her folds around his fingers and cock both, the little squeak she made when she was fighting back an orgasm.

Now, every time Nesta rocked forward and those pearls pressed against her knot, she let out a little moan that vibrated against his length. Cassian’s wings strained as he watched his bride, and he reached down to stroke her hair. He found the pins holding her braided crown in place and removed them one by one, panting as Nesta began to stroke and suck harder. Jasmine flowers fell from her hair as he combed it back with his fingers. He wanted her scent filling the world more than it already did. He wanted to be covered in it, to be covered  _by_  it.

When Nesta’s hair was free, Cassian pulled her back from his cock, “Stand up.” She obeyed, and Cassian pulled down the other strap of her wedding dress, then let it fall to the tiled floor. Her panties were only the start of it- an almost nonexistent bra covered her breasts with an impossibly thin layer of silk. Her nipples strained against it, and Cassian licked his lips as he reached up to squeeze her breast tightly, rolling her nipple between two fingers as he did.

Nesta arched into the touch and cried out when Cassian’s mouth lowered to the other to gently kiss it beneath the fabric. His bride grabbed his head and pulled him up into a deep, hard kiss. Nesta ground against his shaft, making both moan as the pearls rubbed against their sensitive skin. Cassian took the hint.

He unclasped her bra and she flung it aside, then removed the panties at long last. Wholly naked, she claimed Cassian’s mouth with hers and jumped into his arms. Her legs locked around his hips and he knelt, lowering her back to the tiles.

She shoved him lightly and Cassian adjusted his wings so that  _he_  was laying on his back with her on top of him. Nesta lined his cock up with her entrance and slid down on it.

Cassian was right with his earlier teasing- she very nearly came from the feeling of him inside her at long, long last. He filled her wholly and completely, and as though the mating bond sensed its activation was at last imminent, her body took him in one single push. Nesta rested her hands on his new tattoos, the mark of their marriage vows, and leaned down to kiss her husband. It was a simple kiss, not hard or hungry, and Cassian was smiling when she pushed up and began to ride his length.

He fit her so perfectly, Nesta could only smile while she rode him faster and faster. It was not a time to take it slow and build towards some tantric release. This was their  _mating_ , and it was only the beginning.

“Wing.” Nesta commanded. Cassian liked his female to suck at his wings when he came.

He shook his head, panting, “No. I want to hear you. I don’t want-“ he seized up as she squeezed her walls around him with a wicked grin, “- I don’t want your mouth busy.” Cassian pulled at Nesta’s arms, bringing her down so that he could nip and suck at her nipples as she moved.

Nesta cried out, that first sharp shout indeed echoing back to them from the mountain across the lake. Cassian smiled and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, “Hold on.” He shifted his feet, bending his knees and bracing himself against the tile.

A scream tore through her when Cassian tightened his grip on her shoulders and pulled her down even as he slammed his hips up into her. Her legs spasmed at the incredible burst of pleasure. Without them to brace her while she rode him, her knot pressed hard against his pelvis. Cassian did not miss a single stride as Nesta was adjusted. He pushed into her fast and hard, and gave up trying to suck at her breast while he did so.

The sound of their bodies colliding filled the air around them, parted by Nesta’s gasping cries and Cassian’s desperate moans. Both echoed across the lake.

“I’m almost there-“ Nesta cried at last. She fought his grip on her shoulders and Cassian released her enough so that she could look into his eyes. She wanted to see him when he came, when they  _both_  came and that mating bond slammed into place around them.

Cassian could only nod. His balls were tightening rapidly, readying for his orgasm. He picked up his pace just a bit more.

The scent of their bodies filled the air in a fresh wave that slid over and around itself. Cinnamon and sandalwood. By the time he felt her beginning to tremble with warning of an impending release, those scents were indistinguishable from one another. No longer separate, but something joined.

Even as her body tensed beyond even her ability to cry out, Nesta had a sense of that epicenter she and Cassian had flirted with for so long. She could  _feel_  the heart of it waiting for her, the heart of Cassian waiting for her. Where she would normally stop at the threshold, she threw herself forward into his waiting soul.

Nesta screamed as her body filled with a blinding, aching fire from where they were joined. She came on Cassian, flooding him in a wave of juices even as he shouted in return and filled her with his seed. They held gaze only through the first wave before a second made Nesta throw her head back and let out a howl of pleasure so loud that it set birds to flight. She came again,  _harder_  as a second wave exploded around the first and Cassian continued to fill her.

Cassian pushed himself off the floor and set Nesta down on the tile. Her hands went to his ribs, to his tattoos, and he’d barely  _finished_  coming when he began to thrust against her again. Her body was shaking with the long awaited release, but the mating bond had taken hold. Cassian held her breasts, full and sensitive, and slid his wing around to her awaiting mouth. She sucked at the base of a talon as her body stopped shaking and began to build again.

He held her hips tightly as he pushed into her, a little slower than before but not by much. A large hand played with her knot, stroking his name across it- a pattern he’d long since learned made her gasp. Sweat dripped from Cassian’s brow onto her chest, washing across the tattoos temporarily resting beneath her skin.

“Stop,” Nesta gasped. As always, he obeyed. She pushed him back and crawled from beneath him, moaning as he slid from her. She only moved forward far enough to flip over so that her back was to him. Nesta pulled her folds apart and waited for Cassian to grab her hips and enter her.

He did not waste a moment. Nesta’s cries resumed as Cassian filled her. His wing slipped around to her front and she happily stroked and sucked at it. One of his hands went to her knot to swirl and play with the hard bundle while the other rested on  _her_  tattoo, something she knew Cassian would enjoy.

He rested his hand on the middle of those Illyrian wings sealed into her skin with each promise they’d made to one another. The love it represented, the healing joy Nesta brought to him, was represented and contained in the black skin.

He needed to feel as much of her as possible.

Cassian hauled Nesta up and pressed her back against his chest while he continued to thrust. She gasped as his hand continued to play, the other now wrapping around to hold her breast.

“I love you.” Cassian whispered into her ear.

“I love you too, mate.” She wrapped a hand around the one on her breast and rested the other on Cassian’s hips.

When they came together, his shouts echoed back, intertwined with her screams.

* * *

 

\---

Five days.

It took  _five days_  for the mating frenzy to release them. Five days of short, gasping breaks followed by renewed lust. At one point they had to eat with a closed door between them, just to get sustenance into their bodies. Even then, they could only stand it with their fingers touching beneath the wood.

They made love in every room of the house, on every balcony, and even in the lake on a few occasions. The lingerie given to Nesta by Viviane was broken in and earned high praise from her mate.

Cassian held Nesta against him every night when they tumbled into their exhausted sleep, a wing draped across her. They woke every morning to the gentle stroking of their lover as that heat built back up.

When the frenzy passed, when Nesta and Cassian could go a whole  _three hours_  without sex- when they could simply  _hold_  one another without it turning into a frantic scramble to taste their mate- they decided it was time to return to Velaris and see their family. Desire had forced them from the wedding, but now they wanted to celebrate with those they loved.

“I want to tell them about the lake,” Cassian said as they flew up into the air and through the mountains. Nesta was again wearing her wedding dress- they’d accidentally left the ceremony grounds without a change of clothes for either of them. “I want them to see the cabins, and I want help finishing them  _this_  century.”

“Then that’s what we should do.”

The flight back to Velaris took three hours, and even then they angled for the House of Wind, so that Nesta and Cassian could bathe and switch into clean clothes. Nesta brought hers to his rooms and they made love one more time in the swirling steam of a bath.

“What the-“ Nesta was still combing her wet hair when Cassian opened the bathroom door to find a red carpet- a narrower version of the one from their wedding- stretching across his room and into the hall. He looked back at her, “Something tells me we were spotted.”

“Let’s see what the idiots have planned.” She laughed and tied her hair off in a braid before looping her arm through Cassian’s and tugging him along.

They followed that red carpet through the House of Wind and out into the garden. A table piled high with mating gifts sat against the house- everything brought by their guests at the ceremony. Rhys, Feyre, Elain, Lucien, Azriel, Mor, Amren, and Varian were all gathered on the patio, waiting for their friends.

Rhys and Azriel tackled Cassian away from Elain and the Illyrians fell into a wrestling match, laughing and punching in equal measure. Feyre and Elain got to Nesta first and immediately steered her to the waiting Mor and Amren.

“Well? How was it?”

“Yours lasted  _five days?!_ ”

“Did he like the pearls?”

Nesta laughed brightly at her sister’s questions, vowed to never tell, and looked over at the tangle of Illyrians (Lucien and Varian were keeping well away from the talons, but shouted encouragements to Azriel or Rhys). She caught Cassian’s eye just before Azriel wrenched his wing and Rhys locked him in a choke hold.

There was nothing but joy on his face. Pure and unreserved joy. She felt it in the mating bond as bright and gleaming as the sun, she read it in his face even when he shouted in indignation and punched Azriel.

The lake was incredible, but this- being surrounded by their family- was heaven itself.

Never in their lives had Nesta or Cassian known as much happiness as they felt together. No matter how many centuries passed or how big their family grew, little would compare to their time at the lake, or even these first moments back with the ones they chose to love.

Heaven.

Pure heaven.


End file.
